Shutterbug
by Lily10
Summary: What’s an overly emotional, high-strung, functioning insomniac with a Peter Pan complex supposed to do when she’s no longer quite functioning? A/U, NatsumeMikan


**Title:** Shutterbug

**Author: **Lily

**Pairings:** Natsume/Mikan and borderline Mikan/Hotaru (but that's just for comedic purposes)

**Note:** Set in an alternate universe.

**Summary:** What's an overly emotional, high-strung, functioning insomniac with a Peter Pan Complex supposed to do when she's no longer quite functioning?

A. Write no less than 281 letters to her ex-Best Friend Forever  
B. Scam her way into the prestigious Alice Academy for the Arts in a stalker-ish attempt to be with said ex-BFF  
C. Fall in love with the resident bad boy artist

_Answer: _  
D. All the above.

* * *

**Prologue**

* * *

Dear Traitor,

You are a traitor. A heartless wench who wouldn't even give a starving homeless orphan the onions off your plate if they asked you for it, even though I _know_ you don't like onions and no, I am not exaggerating because I know you have that look on your face while you're reading this. That demeaning look you get that just _screams_ Mikan-is-an-over-reactive-teenage-girl-who-is-running-on-too-much-hormones-and-Gatorade-and-perhaps-she-should-go-get-her-head-checked-because-no-one-could-be-that-spastic.

I don't even know why I'm even still writing to you, since evidently, heartless wenches are incapable of feeling any remorse or guilt whatsoever at the bonds of friendship they had previously nurtured like a beautiful budding flower and then so callously broken and discarded like a cheap watch. I loved you Hotaru! I gave you my heart and soul and this is how you repay me? By leaving me in the dirt as you go gallivanting off into the sunset without even a glance back at your dear childhood friend? Is our small town not good enough for you anymore? Are you laughing at us country bumpkins while you're living it up in the _city_ with your _city _friends, and your big fancy _city _school? Are you having a grand ol' time with your traffic and your pollution and your malls and your movie theatres and your Nissan convertibles? HUH? _Are you? _

Because you know what Hotaru? Karma is a cruel mistress. You shall get your just desserts. And then you'll be crawling back here on your hands and knees begging for me to take you back. So suck on _that. _

- Your Ex-BFF,  
Mikan

* * *

Dear Mikan,

Quit sniveling.

- Hotaru

P.S.  
Send me some Strawberry Pocky.

* * *

This is a story about a girl who loved too fiercely and too much. A girl who tended to get proverbially bitch-slapped by Life a lot.

Think of it as half-cautionary tale, half-survival guide with a dash of Schadenfreude and a side order of romantic drama, topped with inspirational messages on love and friendship.

(No seriously.)

Once upon a time, there was a girl who had a smile too big for her face and whose sanity was as fleeting as the froth on a part skim, two pump Irish Cream cappuccino with extra whipped cream.

Born and raised in a small hick-town that was still high on the fact that they possessed cable television, the girl had a best friend. This best friend of hers was originally from the city (oooh) and lacked a normal span of human emotions. She also had a strange way of showing her affections towards the girl, like mocking her tendency to word vomit and throwing cherry pits at her head whenever the girl was going through one of her spaz attacks.

In retaliation, the girl often ended up either trying to high-kick her aforementioned friend in the face (which always resulted in epic fail on her part) or succumbing into a sobbing heap of wailing flailing flesh, not even fit for a newborn.

Still, they were the best of friends, despite their different personalities and random hostilities towards one another.

At the age of sixteen though, the girl's best friend decided to grab the world by the balls, and move out of the remote countryside and back into the city to attend some fancy-schmancy art school for budding geniuses. The girl was outraged. Especially when her best friend had failed to mention this until the very last minute.

('Hotaru, why is there a moving van parked in front of your house?' 'Because I'm moving back to Tokyo.' 'Oh I se--- _What?!_')

Needless to say, the girl spent a good two months in the throes of self pity. She immersed herself in chocolate and bad poetry. She gained ten pounds, stopped sleeping, and avoided things like sunlight and human interaction. She had effectively turned from a cheerful, energetic girl with a dream in her heart and a song on her lips, to a depressed, sullen teenager who spent every afternoon wallowing in front of the TV with a tub of ice cream in one hand and an oversize spoon in the other, eating her weight in junk food through reruns of _'Great Teacher Onizuka'_ (a drama which FYI, will rock your socks).

Everyone in the neighborhood knew full-well what brought about this transformation in the girl, and had tried to remain tactful about it in the face of her depression. The girl's grandfather however, believed that the girl needed a reality check in the form of a good hard kick in the hindquarters. After all, he hadn't raised her to be so dependant on others. Her best friend moved away and his melodramatic granddaughter was acting like it was the end of the world --- the _nerve_ of the youth of today! They thought they had it so bad. Why, when he was her age, he had to walk to school barefoot, uphill both ways, forty miles in the snow, yada, yada, blah blah blah. You get the point.

The last straw was when she dyed her entire wardrobe black in mourning. It was disturbing because the girl _never _wore black. Everything in her closet was either sunshine yellow or pastel pink. After that particular incident, the girl's grandfather staged an intervention and informed her straight-up that she was being too depressing, not to mention creepy, and that she needed to get over it now or he was going to unleash a whole lot of pent up annoyance which would involve a lot of angry, unpleasant yelling and gesticulating.

By that time, the girl too was growing weary of her emo-ish ways. No one had ever told her that angsting was such hard work. She also wanted to avoid anything that would cause her grandfather's blood pressure to rise, since last week, he'd gotten himself in a tizzy over rising fish market prices and nearly had a stroke.

Walking aimlessly around her small neighborhood, contemplating the deep emotional scars her best friend had left on her soul and feeling sorry for herself because of it, the girl stumbled upon an epiphany.

The darkness that had shrouded the girl's world disappeared, replaced by a blazing blue sky and a bright sun; warm rays of golden light spilling out and lighting her up once more. Everything became whole and bright again --- she was suddenly acutely aware of how green the grass was, how fresh the air smelled and how happy the children looked, laughing and playing while adults stood around, talking and smiling.

She was going to transfer schools.

The girl rationalized that it was the only course of action left available for three reasons:

Number one: she wanted to tell her friend face-to-face what an incredibly selfish individual she was by glomping the bajeebus out of her while simultaneously slamming her foot in the other's face.

Number two: it was all quite beyond her control since the girl obviously could not function even semi-normally without her.

And number three: she missed her. A lot. And if you've been following this story as closely as you should have, you ought to know that the girl was nothing if not obsessive to the extreme.

There was only one problem with the girl's plan however. Part of the admission requirements to get accepted into the exclusive Alice Academy for the Arts (also known as "Triple A" or "AAA"), was that you needed to submit a portfolio detailing some of your works as proof that you had at least a hint of artistic ability. Probably so that the school board could sleep better at night knowing that they weren't wasting valuable funding and resources on talentless hacks.

But herein lied the problem --- Alice Academy was a magnet high school for students talented in drawing, painting, graphic design, sculpture, or photography. But as far as the girl knew, she had no talent in _any_ of those areas. On some days, she could barely breathe and walk at the same time. The only talent she possessed was her ability to stuff her whole fist in her mouth.

And here is where we will fade to a dramatic black out, for this is where the real story begins.


End file.
